by Devney Perry
Before my head could wander too far down a green-eyed—er, toed—path, Cole knocked on the door. “Poppy?”
I jerked out of my daze, whipping my eyes away from his bed. “Come on in.”
His feet were bare as he came into the room. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“No.” I smiled. “Thank you for your help. I left your towels in the bathroom, but I’m not sure that green is going to come out.”
“I don’t care about the towels.” He stepped past me and sat against the footboard. His hands were braced on the wood at his sides, making the muscles of his arms pop. When he crossed one ankle over the other, I spun around so he wouldn’t see my heated cheeks.
Damn, he was sexy. The image of Cole in that seemingly casual stance would forever be stamped on my brain.
I took a few long seconds to collect myself as I pretended to study his decor. “I like your house.”
“Thanks. I got lucky and bought it for a steal because it was the last house on the block that hadn’t been restored yet. It’s taken me a while, but I’m finally getting it fixed up to this century.”
I nodded and smiled, peeking over my shoulder to see he hadn’t moved. Back came the heat to my face, but this time it didn’t stop at my cheeks—it went all the way down to my core, stirring a desire that had been dormant for a long, long time.
He pushed off the bed. “Want the full tour?”
“Yes, please.” Sheesh. I’d hid my flaming cheeks, but there was no mistaking my breathy voice.
But Cole—in true Cole fashion—just grinned his knowing grin and crossed the room without a word.
I took one last look at his bed. The image of me sleeping naked under his sheets popped into my head, but I shook it away. Why was I thinking about sex with Cole? We hadn’t really even kissed yet—unless you counted the brush of our lips in Brad and Mia’s garage. And even then, that hadn’t been the type of kiss that led to a long, sweaty night together and me waking up in his arms.
My body was getting in front of my head and it needed to slow down. Way down. Which meant I needed to get the hell out of Cole’s bedroom.
Slamming the door on all things sex and kissing and the way Cole’s ass looked in his jeans tonight, I followed him into the hall as he started his tour.
“The master used to be two rooms.” He knocked on the wall as he led me down the hall. “I had one converted into the bathroom and closet.”
I ran my hand along the door as I peeked into the guest bedroom. “I love that you kept all of the original doors and trim.”
“Me too. It was a bitch for the construction crew to get cleaned up but worth the added time.”
Cole lived in an older downtown neighborhood in Bozeman. Unlike my house, located in one of the newer, cookie-cutter subdivisions, homes in this area were filled with character and surrounded by hundred-year-old trees.
The trim and doors were a rich brown, similar to the color of the restored hardwood floors. The crown molding, painted white to match the walls and ceilings, was thick and carved with an intricate pattern absent in new homes. And the old brass-and-glass doorknobs were something people would spend a fortune on now.
After showing me another spare bedroom and bathroom, Cole led me down the staircase situated in the center of the house. Just like upstairs, the old-style charm had been restored and mixed with the luxuries of modern-day life.
The fireplace in the living room had all of the original brick but the mantel had been changed to fit a wide TV. He’d kept the antique chandelier in the entryway but added recessed lighting to brighten the space. And he’d had a couple of walls knocked out, opening up the floor plan to fit larger, more comfortable furniture.
Everything in Cole’s house flowed seamlessly, from the living room to the dining room, then to the kitchen of my dreams.
“This is beautiful.” I ran my hand along the gray-and-white marble counter. He had it all. Shining stainless-steel appliances. A top-of-the-line gas range. Pristine white cabinets. The moment I set foot on the black-and-white checked floor tile, I’d gotten the urge to start cooking.
“I’m afraid to tell you that I’ve hardly used this kitchen since I had it updated.”
I gasped. “Shame on you, Cole Goodman.”
“Maybe you can help me break it in.”
Break it in.
He was referring to my cooking skills, but the visual that flew into my head had nothing to do with food. I saw myself sitting on the counter, naked, with Cole between my legs, his cock buried deep inside of me as I moaned to the ceiling.
A hot wave spread over my shoulders and down my back as I throbbed between my legs. My nipples hardened against my bra, straining against the thin padding, as my eyes wandered to Cole.
He was watching me, his eyes darkening as if he’d seen the same naughty image in his mind. His chest was rising and falling with short breaths and his hands were fisted at his sides—like he was holding himself on his side of the kitchen.
My gaze dropped to his mouth, unable to look away from his soft, pink lips.
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to kiss him so badly, all of the worry, the indecision I’d held on to these last couple of months just . . . disappeared. There was no room in my head for anything other than getting Cole to kiss me.
Slowly, my hands came off my sides, and with my eyes locked on his face, I twisted my wrists in a slight circle.
My signal.
Cole watched my hands as I twirled once, then twice, before he swallowed hard. “Poppy.” His voice was rough and deep. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Kiss me, Cole.”
In two huge strides, he erased the distance between us. His hands dove into my damp hair as his palms pressed against my jaw. Then his lips molded to mine.
A zing shot through my body as his tongue stroked across my lower lip, coaxing my mouth open. When my lips parted, his tongue swept inside. And he tasted so good—better than anything I could ever make in this kitchen.
I moaned into his mouth as his tongue started exploring. My hands gripped tight to his shirt, holding on as his hands left my face and banded around my back.
Cole pulled me so close that every inch of him was pressed up against me. His solid chest. His muscled thighs. His cock straining beneath his jeans.
With his mouth devouring mine, Cole sparked a fire inside of me that had been only embers for years. The burn was so hot, I could barely stand it. So with desire in charge, I kissed Cole with everything I had. I held him closer, pulling and sucking him in, but it wasn’t enough. I thrust my hips forward, grinding against his, hoping for relief, but the friction only fanned the flames.
I released Cole’s shirt and ran my hands down his backside, squeezing hard when I reached his perfect ass. When Cole groaned, the rumble vibrated down my throat, making me squeeze again, this time even harder.
One second his tongue was working magically against mine, and then it was gone. He broke away from me, panting for breath as I did the same.
“Fucking hell, woman.” He dropped his forehead to mine. “God, I could kiss you forever.”
My lungs heaved as I tried to fill them with air.
Cole’s hands smoothed away the hair that had fallen onto my cheeks, pushing it back behind my ears. “But we’d better slow down.”
He was right—we should slow down—but I missed his lips. I wanted them back so badly I nearly cried.
Because that was the best kiss I’d ever had in my life.
My entire life.
No man, not even Jamie, had ever kissed me with that much passion.
A surge of emotion exploded in my chest and came out of my mouth as a sob. Between the intensity of the kiss and the realization that I’d just broken free from my husband, I couldn’t contain the cry that followed. Or the one after that. Or the tears welling in my eyes.
I slapped a hand over my mouth as the first tear fell. And when the second dripped down my cheek, Cole pulled me into his arms.
&nbs
p; “I’m sorry,” I cried, burrowing my face into his shirt.
I was sorry for crying after our incredible kiss. I was sorry for ruining our intimate moment. But mostly, I was sorry that I wasn’t sorry for kissing Cole.
I was letting Jamie go.
And it broke my heart all over again.
“It’s okay,” Cole whispered into my hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it out.”
With his permission, I didn’t try to fight the pain. I cried into his shirt, wetting his shoulder with my eyes and damp hair. I soaked up the comfort of his arms until I was strong enough to stop.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his shirt before leaning back and wiping my eyes.
He placed his palm on my cheek. “Never be sorry.”
“I don’t regret that kiss. Please know that. It’s just . . . hard.”
“I know.”
I looked up into his eyes, so kind and compassionate, and nearly cried again. He was a dream. How had I found a man who was so understanding and patient, who saw me so clearly? It was nothing short of a miracle.
I inhaled a shaky breath, holding it for a long moment as I reined in my emotions. When I blew out the breath, I let my shoulders collapse, then stood tall.
I hated crying in front of others. I hated feeling weak and pathetic. I hated that I felt so out of control of my emotions. For five years, I’d felt out of control, and every time I started to take back that control, it so often ended with me in tears.
I was exhausted. The tears were exhausting.
I didn’t want to cry anymore. I didn’t want to be sad anymore. I didn’t want to hurt.
When would it go away? When would I find the strength to put the pain in the past and stop letting it tarnish the present?
Disgusted with myself for ruining what had been a magical moment with Cole, I shook my head. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Look at me,” he ordered and my eyes went to his. “No apologies. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. A couple of tears are no big deal.”
I scoffed, waving my hand at his shirt. “I was bawling, Cole. That wasn’t just a couple of tears. You’re practically soaked. I don’t think that constitutes being strong.”
He stepped closer, his palm again finding my cheek. “Crying doesn’t make you weak, Poppy. Sometimes, it takes more strength to let go than it does to keep it all inside.”
I didn’t know if that was true, but the words felt wonderful as they settled in my heart. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
His hand fell away from my face and I motioned toward the hallway. “I’d better go.”
“Okay.” He followed me into the living room where I grabbed my purse and backpack from his camel leather couch. “Are we still on for the paint fight on Sunday?”
“Yeah. I’ve got everything ready to go. Molly, Finn and the kids are going to be there. And you’ll finally get to meet Jimmy.”
“I can’t wait.” He escorted me to the door, opening it up so I could step out onto his porch.
The red brick exterior of his house was trimmed with white. The square pillars around the porch were thick and adorned with gables. A weaving vine snaked up the far corner to the second floor. All that was missing were two white rocking chairs and this porch would be the perfect place to watch children play in the front yard.
“See you Sunday.” Cole bent down and kissed my cheek.
“Bye.” I stepped outside but paused, looking over my shoulder. “Thank you.” I swallowed hard. “Thank you for kissing me. For being the one.”
His eyes softened. “It will always be me.”
I hope so. I gave him a tiny smile before turning and walking to my car. With a quick wave, I pulled away from the curb and drove straight home. But instead of taking the shower that I’d planned, I went inside and flopped on my bed. Then I grabbed Jamie’s picture off my nightstand.
I stroked his face in the frame.
His smiling face, frozen under the glass, soothed the ache in my chest. Jamie would never want me to be sad. He wouldn’t want me to be alone. If he couldn’t be here with me, then he’d want me to find happiness.
I knew it down to my bones.
I set down the frame and dug into my purse next to me on the bed. With Jamie’s journal and a pen in hand, I flipped to his Jell-O page and checked the box.
We’re almost done, Jamie. Just a few things left to do.
I closed the journal and hugged it to my chest. I’d cried myself out at Cole’s, so I just smiled.
Was Jamie somewhere, looking down and smiling too? Was he glad that I was doing the things he’d wanted to most? I hoped that this list was his way of guiding me through the grief. I hoped that this was his way of helping me say good-bye.
I hoped that this was his way of leading me to a new life.
One filled with smiles. With laughter.
One filled with love.
Two days later, the green had vanished from my skin and I was at Jimmy’s apartment, filling up biodegradable water balloons with paint. I’d spent the last thirty minutes working up the courage to tell him about me and Cole so he wouldn’t be surprised when we arrived at the park later this afternoon.
“So, um . . . I invited Cole to do this paint fight with us.”
“Yeah, I know.” His fingers were covered in blue paint as he tied a balloon closed. “I remember when you told me the same a week ago. Are you worried I’m getting senile or something? Because I’m not. No matter what that asshole Randall says, my head’s as clear as it was when I was your age, got it?”
“Got it.” I giggled, tying off my red balloon and dropping it in the tub with the others. “But I wanted to tell you something else. Cole’s not just a friend helping on Jamie’s truck. We’re kind of dating.”
“You really do think I’m senile.” He chuckled. “Relax, Poppy. I figured as much.”
“You did?” I gaped at him as he filled another balloon.
He nodded. “You talk about him a lot. Seems like you spend a lot of time together. Molly told me he comes into the restaurant most nights. I’m old, not blind. I assumed there was something more going on with you two.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
He shook his head, dropping the paint bottle in his hands to give me his full attention. “I just want you to be happy. And if you like this guy, I’m all for it.”
“You think it’s okay to start dating again?”
Maybe it was because Jimmy and Jamie had been so close, but I needed Jimmy’s blessing. It was the closest thing I had to Jamie’s blessing. I needed him to tell me that it was okay to date Cole.
He nodded. “I don’t just think it’s okay. I think it’s time. Five years, Poppy. It’s time to move on. And you know just as well as I do that Jamie would want that for you too.”
I looked down at my paint-covered fingers. “Thank you,” I whispered. He couldn’t know how many fears and anxieties he’d just eased.
His blue hand closed over mine. “It’s the truth.”
I looked up at him and smiled.
“Are you two ready to go or what?” Randall grumbled from the hallway as he walked into Jimmy’s room. “I want to get this over with so I can be back in time for dinner.”
I started filling another balloon. “Just a few more of these and then we can go.”
“Fine,” Randall muttered as he came into the kitchenette. He was wearing head-to-toe coveralls, and in one gloved hand was a shower cap.
“Look at this guy.” Jimmy rolled his eyes. “A jumpsuit? Really? You pansy. It’s just a little paint.”
“I’m not wrecking my clothes. Some of us take pride in our appearance.” Randall’s eyes narrowed as he and Jimmy went into one of their usual stare-downs.
Jimmy came to The Maysen Jar with Randall nearly every day now, and one thing I’d learned was that they lived to bicker. Those two would come to the restaurant midmorning and argue about anything until well past lunch.
>
At first, I’d tried to intervene—to play peacemaker—but after my fiftieth failed attempt, I’d given up.
So I just shook my head and kept filling my balloon. “Can you at least save the fight for the park, gentlemen?”
“Always taking his side,” Randall muttered and turned around to the living room.
“She’s my granddaughter!” Jimmy called to his back. “Of course, she takes my side.” He looked to me. “What a dumbass.”
“You two are worse than little kids.”
Jimmy chuckled and waved me closer to whisper, “Look.”
He double-checked that Randall was out of sight, then reached into a cabinet. Out came a full-sized balloon, ten times the size of the miniballoons like we’d been filling.
“Jimmy,” I hissed.
He snickered. “No way that jumpsuit and shower cap will save him from this big ol’ bastard.”
I snorted, trying to swallow my laugh. Then I bent down to the tub and started making room for his monster balloon. “Get it down between the little ones so he won’t see it.”
Jimmy smiled. “That’s my girl.”
An hour later, I was standing in a huddle, having just gone over the rules for our paint fight. No direct shots in the face. Take it easy on Max and Kali. Go until all the balloons were gone.
On my left stood Jimmy and Randall, Cole on my right. And across from me were Finn, Molly and the kids.
“Everybody ready?”
I got cheers all around as we broke apart to load up on balloons.
“Okay. On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”
Pandemonium ensued. Balloons started flying, people started running, and paint splattered everywhere.
“Get Aunt Poppy!” Finn yelled to Kali, who immediately started chasing me.
“No, Kali! No!” I pretended to run fast but let her catch up and lob a yellow balloon at my back. The sticky paint instantly soaked through my thin white tank and coated the backside of my arms. “You got me!”
She giggled, then raced back to the bucket to reload. “Get Daddy!” she squealed, aiming a green balloon at Finn. She took off, joining Molly and Max as they chased Finn and pelted him with balloons.
For the first time in months, Finn and Molly were actually smiling at one another. Genuine smiles. I wasn’t sure if they were getting along because this paint fight was for Jamie, or maybe they were putting on happy faces for me. Regardless, it made this whole idea just that much more fun.
